Surrender
by Yma
Summary: A story of Magneto, Xaver and a washing-machine. More serious than it sounds. Contains strong language at the beginning, but is fine the rest of the way. Please RnR!


I humbly dedicate this story to Judit, in the hope that it goes some small way to helping her. 

Disclaimer: This story is as a cheep china cup in a pleasant café. I borrow it to drink my tea out of, then return it to the rightful owners for washing. 

Surrender.

By Yma

The Master of Magnetism glared at his obstinate foe. A growl escaped his lips, his eyes were aflame with rage.

'You STUPID, FUCKING, PIECE OF GARBAGE!' he screamed, spittle flying from his mouth. 

He delivered a firm kick to the washing machine. 

'Whey the HELL won't you OPEN! All I want is for you to open! Just Open!'

He could use is power to simply smash the thing, of course, but that would break his cover, and he could not afford that. So the tall man rained down kicks and blows on the mettle washing machine, barely noticing the dents he was making, or the pain he was causing himself.

This event was the climax of a long and frustrating day for Erik Lehnsherr. It had started with a small tantrum from a four year old Pietro, who was fighting Wanda for ownership of a toy, during which Erik had briefly lost his temper and control of his power. A mettle spoon had flown across the room and hit the wall, mere inches away from Pietro's head. Both he and Wanda had started bawling, and Erik, despite all his guilt ridden apologies and bribes had been unable to shut them up. Instead he had been forced to leave the mess for the babysitter, whilst he went to work as a semi-voluntary nurse in a psychiatric hospital. The day had not improved there either, people constantly piling work onto his shoulders, tasks went unfinished or finished badly, he was allowed little time to rest or socialise with anyone. Then finally he went to the local laundrette with the simple agenda of doing the weekly washing for himself and his children. Only, just as he went to turn off the machine and retrieve his clothing his power, this strange, freaky, magnetic ability over which he still only had a moderate amount of control, had come out in another uncontrolled burst. Now, for whatever reason, he could not open the bloody washing machine door. 

'Is it asking so bloody much!' he raged, 'am I asking for much here! NO! I just wasn't to get my kid's cloths out! You freaky little… THING! All I want is for you to OPEN! PLEASE! Just OPEN! Just open… just… open...' 

He collapsed, still banging his fist against the machine, tears leaked from his eyes. 

'Erik…?'

A familiar voice behind him made Erik turn around, and try to regain some composure. Brief embarrassment fluttered within him, he had thought he had been alone, it was late after all.

Instead he saw Charles Xavier standing there, with an armload of dirty clothes and a concerned look on his face.

'I… I'm sorry Charles,' stuttered Erik, 'I, ah… just lost my temper briefly. I'm alright now.'

Xavier raised one dark eyebrow sceptically, hand looked meaningfully towards the battered washing machine.

'Heh,' laughed Erik, without much humour, 'made quite a mess of it, didn't I? That'll be another bill I can't afford to pay.'

He tested the door, 'and it still won't open! Just my luck, I guess,' another, grim, almost despairing chuckle escaped his lips. 

Charles looked on with a worrying expression, 'don't worry,' he said, putting down the basket containing his own washing, 'I know the man who runs this place, I'm sure we'll be able to come to an arrangement, and I'll get your cloths back for you.' 

Charles actually hated using any level of mind control but, he thought, in this case it was warranted. 

'That's nice of you,' replied Erik, leaning against the wall, 'but I'm OK, I'll… I'll figure something out.'

'No Erik, you won't, now give me a second to put my cloths in the wash, and I'll take you to a café I know, it opens until late, we can share a drink or two. I'll buy. OK?'

'Charles, this is very kind of you but-'

'Erik, you're upset, you need someone to talk to. You're either coming with me for a chat, or you're going back to the psychiatric hospital, and not as a worker. Which would you prefer?'

'Fine! Fine!' exclaimed Erik, putting his arms up in the air, 'if that's what you want. Let's go.'  

The two men sat in the small, almost deserted café, a tiny oasis of peace in the otherwise busy Israeli streets. 

Charles Xavier took a sip of his Earl Grey tea, and lit up a cigar. He puffed on it, savouring the taste, then sent out a ploom of smoke. 

Erik, nursing a cup of strong coffee, coughed and waved his hands in front of him, trying to shoo away the smoke. 

'I'm sorry,' said Charles, 'I forgot, you don't like the smell do you?'

Erik shook his head, 'filthy habit,' he commented. 

'True,' replied his companion, 'I intend to give it up soon.' 

He stubbed out the cigar, and leaned forward, observing the white haired man intently.

Erik shifted nervously under his gaze. There was something about Charles Xavier, perhaps it was his intense eyes, perhaps his bald dome, perhaps something else, that seemed to cut through him. Charles had an uncanny knack of knowing what was going though someone's head, and Erik had always made it a point to be especially guarded about him. 

'Well…' prompted the bald man.

'Well what?'

'What's wrong?'

'Nothing,' replied Erik, a little quicker than he meant, 'I… I just got frustrated, that's all. It had been a hard day and I wasn't in the mood. It just seemed that everything I touch…'

'Go on…'

But Erik said nothing; he just glared defiantly at his coffee, as if trying to divine something in the dark, caffeine swirls.

'Erik,' said Charles softly, 'anything you tell me I'll treat in the strictest confidence. Nothing you say will leave this table if you don't want it to.'

He remained silent, staring into his steaming mug.

'Please, I'm asking you as a friend, talk to me. Please?'

'Do you ever feel,' Erik began at last, speaking slowly and carefully, 'do you ever feel that… that everything you touch breaks?'

'This isn't about the computer incident?' asked Charles, humour in his voice.

He referred to a time when the hospital's only computer had, for no adequately explained reason, almost literally blown up when Erik had walked into the room (1). This event had, at the time, been viewed as a minor disaster, but now was seen as just another humorous anecdote to give out to junior nurses.  

The memory drew a small smile from Erik's previous dour face, he shook his head slightly.

'And it's not about breaking washing machines either,' continued Charles, his eyes still boring into Erik's head, 'it's about something else, something more personal, something serious. Come on Erik, tell me. Please. Open up a bit, just for me?'

Again there was a long silence from Erik, but this was more the silence of someone seeking the right words to say. Charles waited patiently, and was eventually rewarded.

'My family,' Erik began, 'my mother, father, even sister the… they died in front of me, shot by the Nazis. And most of the people in my village too, they were shot… just because they were Jews… just because they… we, were different. I was the only one Charles, the only survivor. The only survivor.'

'Erik… you-'

But the white haired man put a hand up, silencing his companion, there was more for him to say, hard things that did not bare interruptions.

'Then I go to the camps and everyone I met… everyone I knew… they were dying, and I survived, I don't know why but I did. So… so I end up meeting Magda, my wife, and we escape and make a life and have children and… I think… I think perhaps, just perhaps I can protect them, perhaps I can make life good. But then she… she dies, and have to run and look after kids who I can't really provide for or do right by. Charles, something happened today… I don't want to go into details… but something happened which made me wonder if… if I'm not a danger to them. If I should even be here.'

Alarm bells rang in Charles's head, this was not good, 'that's not true.'

'Isn't it? Then how come everyone I get near gets hurt? Perhaps that's all I'm good for, I mess things up. I either hurt people or can only stand back as they get hurt in front of me. What am I good for, Charles? What?'

'Erik, you are a talented, strong, intelligent man, and this talk… it's not good, my friend.'

'Perhaps not, but it's true. What have I ever given the world, Charles? The only thing good that's ever come out of my life is my children, and I can't provide for them properly, can't give them any sort of life!'

'Nonsense! Those kids are happy and well looked after. And as for what you've given the world, you need only look back to the hospital, talk to the patients, you'll see what you've given the world, what you've given them.'

'Yeah, maybe. But something in me says that it's still only a matter of time before it all blows up in my face, before my freaky ways get everyone into trouble again. I'm  no good. Like I've said, I'm a freak, a guy who hurts and breaks everything around him, everything that he loves, but comes out unscathed.'

'You've been unlucky, that's all, that doesn't make you freakish or dangerous.'

Yeah right, thought Erik, Charles really had no idea. He had long ago worked out that it had been a burst of Magnetic power, a premature outburst, which had prevented the Nazi's bullets from killing him whilst they slashed into his family and those he loved. It had been his magnetic power that, in a quick, uncontrolled burst, a second development, had frightened his previous employer, and made him gather together a mob which had set his home alight. It had been his power which had enabled him to save himself and his children from this fire, but not his wife. She had been too scared to accept help from him, had had called him a monster when she had seen his power in action. It had been his magnetic power which had then killed the mob, his power that had helped him escape, survive, and arrive here. His power which had flung that spoon towards Pietro, it had been so close to hitting him…

'Oh, you wouldn't say that if you knew some of the things I do.' Erik replied, dark humour permeating his tones, 'believe me when I say that I'm a freak, a man who's useless and dangerous to everyone around him.'

Charles shook his head, sensing something was wrong, but unsure what. Erik's mind had always been hazy to him, hard to penetrate even with his mighty telepathic abilities. Yet something about the way Erik had mentioned 'freak,' struck a cord within Charles, he guess that this was part of what was a the heart of the problem.

'You're no freak, my friend,' he said, 'or if you are, then no more than anyone else is. Freak is only another word for individual.'

'Not if it harms the people around you,' shot out Erik, passion returning to his voice, 'not if it means people hate you and those you love!'

'That's not your problem, Erik!' returned Charles with equal passion, 'if people hate you, judge you because you are different then that's their decision, their loss, and their fault. You can't hold yourself accountable for the prejudices of others.'

'As if you understand!' spat the other man, acrid bitterness in his words.

'You'd be surprised,' returned Xavier, his own words soft and calm, 'when I was younger, in my teenage years, I lost all my hair. It may seem a trifle now, but it's not an easy thing for a teenager to go though. Other things happened the too… thing that made me doubt my own worth. But I learnt that in the long term people accept these differences, look past them into the person within. We cannot help who or what we are, Erik, nor what some ignorant people do because of it. All we can do is help change these people, change the world, teach them to look beyond differences, to celebrate individuality.'

'Oh, so you revert back to that theory!' Erik gave another humourless laugh, 'we've talked about this before, it works the same way with me as it does with mutants. If they existed they wouldn't last long. Human life is cheep Charles, or at least it is to other humans, I learned that in the camps.' 

A strange rage came into Xavier's face then, a look Erik had never seen before, 'don't you dare use that argument, Erik,' he spat, 'don't you dare! You of all people should realise how much you undermine by even suggesting it. You survived Erik, you lived where millions died, and why? God? Your own strength? I don't know. But you lived, you were given life where thousands were given death. As far as I see it, that makes your life extremely precious, if it came from a place where life was so easily lost to brutality. And you talk about throwing it away! Throwing something so precious, so temporary away like it was trash! That is an insult, it's an insult to every single creature on earth that's died before they were meant to. It's an insult to every plague victim, every starving child, every murdered man, every Auschwitz victim!' 

Erik was silent, the words had hit him hard, he seemed to be almost trembling, his eyes were lowered to the table once again. He looked almost broken.

-Oh god!- thought Charles, -have I just pushed him further towards the brink?-

'I'm sorry,' he said, 'I didn't mean to be so harsh. But… but you're a good man, Erik, a great man. It would be a waste, to everyone, to throw your life away when you have so much to offer the world. That's all. And you're my friend, one of the best friends I've ever had, I'd don't want to lose you.' 

A whirlwind of thoughts swirled though Erik's head. Charles was right, he had to continue, for his children's sake if nothing else. But what could he give the world? How could he live up to honour the deaths of so many? 

All he had was his memories… his power… maybe if he could combine the two. 

Suddenly, for reasons he would never be able to fully explain, he had an epiphany. 

He saw a vision of the future, a vision where others like him were discovered, caught, slaughtered. 

A vision where his children inherited his ability, where they were taken to camps, a vision of little Pietro, so thin the bones showed though his pale skin. 

A vision of Auschwitz repeated.

NO! He would not allow it. 

He had power, he had knowledge, he had survived, and for a reason. This reason. 

Right then and there, in a dingy café, with a good friend, over a cup of cold coffee, Erik Lehnsherr made a vow, a vow of blood, bone, heart, soul and power. He vowed never again. He vowed that he would send himself to hell and back before he let that happen to anyone else, before he allowed the gates of Auschwitz to open again for his children. 

That was his reason, that was his purpose, that was why he lived. 

When Erik looked up from his ruminations Charles saw it in his eyes, not the details, but a difference. A blazing determination, a purpose, a quest, it at once gave him reason to hope, and reason to dread. 

'Thank you, my friend,' said the suddenly invigorated man, 'I'm better now, I owe you.'

Charles shook his head, 'don't mention it. Just remember this, if you ever need my help, my ear, I'm always around.'

'Yes, I'll remember that. What do you say we have a toast?' 

Erik picked up his coffee cup and lifted it into the air; a bemused Charles Xavier did the same. 

'To life!' said Erik, 'to all the possibilities it holds, and to all the paths we may travel!'

'To life!' agreed Charles, and there was a clink as the two mugs came together.

There was a clink as Magneto put down the queen. 

'Check,' he said. 

Over a decade had passed since that fateful night in the Israeli café. Many things had changed, and many things had stayed the same. 

For example, the same two men sat drinking the same drinks in a very similar café. 

Yet now one was sitting comfortably in a wheelchair, and the other wore armour the colour of fresh blood, and now a chess set was placed before them. The one on the wheelchair seemed to be loosing at the moment.

The same was true of their relationship, in some ways it had stayed the same, in others it had changed beyond recognition. 

They were still the same men they'd been a decade before, yet now they were completely changed. 

Professor Xavier leaned forward, surveying the pieces and their positions carefully. Magneto leaned back in the creaking chair, sipping his strong coffee.

'Charles…' he began.

'Hummm…'

'Do you remember, all those years ago, that time in the laundrette, and the café after that?'

'Yes… they made rather nice Earl Grey as I recall.'

'Indeed but that, of course, is not what I'm referring to.'

Xavier sighed and, glancing up, replied, 'of course I remember, what about it?'

'You know how close I was, I nearly… ended it. I was wondering… after all these years… do you ever wish…' Magneto paused now, licked his lips, gathered his thoughts, 'do you ever wish that things had turned out differently? That you hadn't helped. That I had…'  

'No,' replied Charles, before his companion could finish, 'not for a moment.'

'Why not?'

'For one I believe that life, all life, is sacred. But, more importantly I remember what you have given the world, given me.'

'Excuse me?'

Xavier smiled, 'I remember a young, idealistic psychologist in a Voluntary Hospital who dreamed of finding other mutants like himself, so that he might prove their existence and show them to the world. I remember him talking to anther nurse, a far more cynical but realistic man, who taught him the error of this idea, who stopped him outing mutant kind, and saved many lives because of it. And I remember the conversations between them, the debates, the jokes, the arguments, all those special moments of friendship. I remember those and think, how much would I have lost if you hadn't been there? You've done much evil now, Erik, but within that is good. Even as within you there is evil there is also much strength, power, and honour. No matter what our relationship now, I am glad to have been able to call you a friend.

'Thank you Charles,' replied Erik sincerely, 'and I am glad to say the same about you.' 

The two players exchanged a smile, then turned their attention back to the chess board. 

'It looks like it's all over,' commented Magneto, 'most of your pieces are taken, or in the wrong position, your king is in check, do you wish to surrender?'

'Me? Give up? Surrender?' exclaimed Xavier, an enigmatic smile turning the corners of his mouth, he reached over to move a piece, 'not a chance, my friend, not a chance!'

 THE END?

(1) Erik = Magneto = Large Living Magnet. 

Large Living Magnet + Computer = Boom. 

The rest is silence. 


End file.
